The Witch's Aria
by Missing Tales
Summary: A secret affair and a betrayed love are threatening the Pendragons line of succession deeper than ever before. What is Morgana, what is Merlin, what is the Prince ready to do in their irresistable maelstroem of forbidden desires? Merthur AU with suggestive/explicit Male/Male dom/sub scenes (warnings ahead), implicit ArMor. Humor, hurt, angst, dark!Merlin dark!Arthur further on.
1. Chapter 1 - A Reluctant Spy

**The Witch's Aria AU**

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_Author's Notes_

**Merthur AU** with suggestive **Male/Male dom/sub** scenes, implicit _ArMor_ and _MerGwen_, **humor, hurt, angst,** slight **dark!Merlin dark!Arthur** further on.

This is a slightly more fluff version of the story, the slash scenes gonna stay on the suggestive side to apply to site rules. If you prefer the explicit MA-rated version of the story (still no hardcore but just to be on the safe side) I invite you to check out the story as it soon will be published at AO3 (archiveofyourown . org). Same name, same author.

It is a fanfiction based on a fanfiction video totally not made by me. Thanks goes to LuNatics for her amazing work and for allowing me to flesh out her story a bit. Be sure to check out her video "Merlin (AU; Merthur) - The Witch's Aria" I based this on (almost frame by frame) over at youtube. Careful though, since the video will contain spoilers for this story (duh). As far as this alternate universe setting allows me to I will try to keep each character as close to their origins as possible.

As I am totally new to this fandom, this site, fanfiction in general and even writing in not my mother tongue, I hope I did this fandom justice. May you have as much joy reading as I had writing this story.

Special thanks goes to my great Beta Reader, who is helping me challenging the weird jungle that is the English grammar, playing the game of how to phrase it best, and encouraging me to put the best I have into this piece.

Now let's get on with it, because, if you are being honest, no one wants to read author's notes.

Hope you enjoy!

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, I only abducted their protagonists. I do not own the story, I only stole it's frame and brought it to life using dark magic. I do not profit in money but in moments I stole your breath.**_

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**Chapter 1 - A Reluctant Spy**

Gwen slowly made her way through the darkening halls of Camelot, her chores for the day almost done. In her head her thoughts were spinning. She always had been a loyal maid servant to Lady Morgana, ever since Gwen's mother died and the lady took pity on the young, grief-stricken blacksmith's daughter.

They grew up becoming as close to friends a lady and a servant would ever become, and Gwen would do anything for her. Or would she?

Lately, however, Lady Morgana had changed. Her kind sapphire eyes had grown darker and her smiling lips had acquired a hard line to them, like a hidden pain Morgana chose not to reveal. And the glares she had begun to cast Merlin's way never failed to send an eerie chill down Gwen's spine. Was it fear?

Why would poor Merlin, the cheeky yet clumsy servant of Prince Arthur, be deserving of such glares? Merlin, who clearly admired the Lady Morgana since he first caught sight of her? Merlin, who had been Gwen's best friend ever since he set foot in Camelot (and got himself into the stocks almost instantly)?

Despite her brooding mood, Gwen giggled at that memory. She remembered how that lanky, roguishly grinning boy was happily undisturbed by his young "fans' " glee at gracing his face with rotten tomatoes, introducing himself to her with the words: "I am Merlin, although most people just call me Idiot."

He was not the most skillful servant ever, Gwen could agree on that, and he never seemed to remember to knock when entering a lady's chamber nor to address any person of higher standing with due respect. But whenever he seemed to have overstepped his boundaries, he would tilt his head in his most specific Merlin-ish way, both mocking and humble, and his face would light up with the most open, childish, and innocent smile she had ever seen on anyone older than, say, four years old. His doe-eyed glances which still made Gwen's heart flutter like caged butterflies would appease everyone's anger.

But somehow he had managed to arouse the Lady Morgana's anger, and now she, Gwen, had the bitter task to spy on a friend and his master.

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_"What, do you think, keeps Merlin busy so late in the evening, staying in Arthur's chambers, sneaking back home in the middle of the night?" Morgana had asked, beautiful and sad, and so scared to fall asleep, "What are they doing, when everyone is sleeping, Gwen?"_

_"Well, what would they do? Arthur has a lot to do during the day, so he retires late and Merlin just helps him. As he should do." Gwen had stuffed her lady's cushions for more comfort. "You should try to sleep now, my lady. The potion Gaius gave you will quieten the nightmares."_

_But Morgana couldn't let go. "But don't you think it's odd? How captivated Arthur is by Merlin. How he keeps him, even when he constantly complains that he has the worst servant ever?"_

_"He did try to replace Merlin with Cedric," Gwen had reminded her lady. "But there is just no one as loyal as Merlin." She wasn't ashamed of that pride that had shone through her words. And Cedric had turned out to be a calculating, conniving thief. So much for Arthur's insight into human nature._

_"Loyal, yes, I suppose that's what you could call it."_

_"What would you call it?"_

_Morgana hadn't answered to that, lost in her own thoughts. "Arthur tried to replace him, yes. He threw Merlin in the dungeons. He sent him away, working for some foreign knight. But still he took him back. And Merlin, this scheming, shifty Merlin, he acts like he doesn't even mind. No one can be that loyal."_

_"Merlin can. He is that loyal." Gwen knew it. Merlin was this kind of person. He never seemed to hold any grudge against anyone. Not even against King Uther, who constantly suggested Merlin must have some sort of mental affliction._

_"There has to be more. He is hiding something. There is a secret he doesn't want me to see." Morgana spoke more to herself than to her maid._

_"Who? Merlin or Arthur?"_

_"Gwen, you are my friend, aren't you?" Lady Morgana suddenly spoke with such urgency in her voice that all Gwen could answer was incoherent stammerings, letting her hand be taken passionately by the lady. "I need you to do something for me, for us."_

_"My lady, I.."_

_"I need to know what's happening between them, Gwen, please! I need to know it. If you would just -"_

_"Wha- no- what?"_

_"I wouldn't order you to do it. But as your friend, I am begging you, help me. I need to know what Arthur is doing. You want to know what Merlin is doing. I know you do."_

_"Merlin, he- he is Arthur's servant, he is serving him, as I do you, my lady. Please, don't ask this of me." Gwen had been horrified by her lady's suggestion. She couldn't just sneak into a man's bedchamber, let alone the prince's chamber, Prince Arthur with his handsome face and his strong body and his kind eyes and his soft lips - _stop it Gwen! That kiss had meant nothing to him! You should stick to more ordinary people, like Merlin, dear Merlin, sweet Merlin.

_But she couldn't watch a man, a prince, to undress. That was inappropriate in so many ways, she was a decent maiden, a good maiden, an honest maiden. How was she supposed to look Arthur in the eyes after she had seen him na- in all his glory. True, he wouldn't know it, and Merlin wouldn't know it, but she would, and it would be so humiliating._

_And then Gwen had looked into Morgana's eyes. Pleading eyes, frantic and distressed. The lady had clung to Gwen's hand as if her life had depended on it. "I wouldn't ask this of you if I had a choice," she had whispered, batting eyelashes to fight down invisible tears. "Tomorrow, you need to sneak into Arthur's bedroom before he returns from dinner. You have to tell me what you see, Gwen, please, I need to know why…" And then Morgana had spoken no more._

_"Why what?" Gwen had asked, but she never found out. So she had just returned the firm hand clasp, had smiled reassuringly to her lady and had heard herself answer, "If it sets your mind at rest, my lady, I will do as you ask. You will see, there is nothing to fear."_

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Well, turned out she wasn't half that decent maiden as she would like herself believe.

She didn't feel comfortable at all sneaking into the prince's chambers, something she certainly wouldn't have done if Morgana hadn't seem so exasperated. In fact, she had never been here before. A few flowers here and there wouldn't hurt, she thought while looking around. It would most certainly break up the harsh stony feel of these rooms. Cheer them up a bit. Maybe a bunch of bluebells over on that small table next to the bed? The blue would add nicely to the Pendragon-themed red bed drapes. Or – Gwen!, she scolded herself. You are not here for decoration improvements! Look for a place to hide instead!

The folding screen? No, Arthur probably would change behind it. The curtains? She suspected Merlin wasn't too keen on keeping them as dust free as he should, given that he always complained about how much Arthur busied him with what Merlin called "dull and duller domestic duties". She would probably have to sneeze, get detected, and be thought a creep. Which she was, actually, on Morgana's behalf. Better not to think about it.

She found a wardrobe with the doors half open. Next to the wardrobe in a semi-hidden corner, the prince's clothes had been thrown carelessly onto a big heap. Gwen smiled at that sight. Arthur was right after all. Merlin really was the worst servant he had ever had. And yet he refused to replace him with anyone else, despite even the king's explicit wishes. That was more than odd, really.

Gwen stopped her line of thought right there, and, since the wardrobe seemed the most unused object in the room, she stepped inside. The wardrobe's doors must have sported a mirror once that had been long gone or broken. Gwen found that she was able to peek outside through a tight grid of intricate carvings covering the small window-like opening where the mirror might have been. With the wardrobe overlooking a good portion of the prince's bedroom, she would have a good vantage over whatever was about to unfold whilst shrouding herself in shadows. Now all she had to do was wait, and hope that there would be nothing to discover.

She heard fast steps approaching from the hallway. Anxiously, she shrank back against the wardrobe's rear wall.


	2. Chapter 2 - Two Unlikely Lovers

**The Witch's Aria**

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**Warnings: some extensive male/male dom/sub content ahead. If you don't like it, heed my next warning within the text. You will still be able to follow the story if you skip it. **

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**Chapter 2 - Two Unlikely Lovers**

"I am NOT FAT!", the mighty prince yelled as he chased Merlin through the doors into his chamber.

Merlin ducked away from a glove projectile Arthur had aimed for his head and smiled broadly. "See! And it is my duty to keep you that way!"

"MERlin!"

The other glove followed, but Merlin saw it coming and stepped aside. Unfortunately he tripped over the broom he had left leaning against a small marble-topped table. Somehow he managed to catch himself against the table, but it proved to be no match for his momentum and toppled, taking both him and its bowl of fruit tumbling to the floor. The wooden bowl bounced, rolled under a dresser, and clattered to a stop; apples and pears rolled like thunder along the floor, scattering in all directions. A dull pain in his knee told Merlin he had just made an unwelcome acquaintance with a leg of the overturned table.

He sat up, rubbing his knee, and looked up at his prince ruefully. Trying on one of his most winning smiles, he said, "Ouch. Sorry! I think I better be straighten that up, then," and, delaying just long enough to make Arthur notice, he added, "Sire."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and gave him a most condescending smile. "Oh, but MERlin, you must be soooo hungry after this day's training. Why don't you make yourself comfortable down there and have a bite? These fruit won't be fit for anyone to eat now, will they?"

Merlin's stomach grumbled angrily, despite the lonely sausage he had snatched from Arthur's dinner table earlier, while the prince had been distracted shooting deadly glares to a mocking Lady Morgana, who seemed to think it amusing to contemplate the prince's recent love life.

"_No noble visitor's daughters lately, Arthur, that you could amuse us with today? No? Ah, what a pity. Being Crown Prince must be such a burden! Your chamber must feel so lonely now," _she had mocked, alluding to the embarrassing escapade with the Sidhe's daughter he had intended to marry after two days of knowing her. The royals never found out these "nobles" had been Sidhes, controlling Arthur with a love spell, of course, but it didn't stop Morgana from japing about it mercilessly.

Before that, a hasty breakfast with Gaius had been the last time Merlin had eaten today. His master never even seemed to notice how much he busied his servant, not allowing him any breathers during the day. Which was why this uncommonly generous offer took Merlin by surprise.

"Really? Well, thanks, I should certainly not rejec…." Then he caught the ill boding look in Arthur's eyes. "You're joking!" he said, stating the obvious. He really should have learned by now not to be taken in so easily by his prince's dry humor.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "There really is no limit to your intelligence, is there?" he snapped, but the smirk sitting in one corner of his mouth revealed his irritation as mere charade.

Cheerfully, Merlin hurried to pick up the scattered fruit. One even had rolled to what he had dubbed "the bad corner". The one hidden between huge chests of clothes Arthur never liked and never wore, where he would never look into and therefore wouldn't mind if the laundry accumulated a wee bit occasionally. Merlin really had meant to do the laundry today. He really had. Then Arthur decided to abuse him as moving target instead. Prat.

As he crouched beneath the wardrobe to pick up the stray fruit, a strange rustling sound made him freeze on the spot. What was that? He gave the wardrobe an uneasy glance. Could it be rats living in the prince's chambers? He'd better take a look before Arthur had him roasted for another hole in his shoes. Reluctantly, he approached the most neglected piece of furniture in the room.

"Merlin, what are you doing?" Arthur called impatiently. "Do you expect me to undress myself?"

"You did a fine job with them gloves already, sire!" Merlin mocked playfully. "I thought you might want to keep up the good work, show off that you are a real grown-up now."

He barely noticed Arthur's next reply, something about what he was planning to do with gloves and grown-up idiots, because there was yet another shuffling sound in the wardrobe. Were there more than one rat? It sounded really big. And if there weren't, what kind of creature awaited him in there then? Should he get a knife out first?

"No need to look so frightened, MERlin." Arthur soothed, and the soft sound finally managed to reach Merlin's distracted mind. "I am done with _hurting_ you today," the prince added, putting strange emphasis on the word "hurting."

His hand hovering over the wardrobe's knobs, Merlin broke into a mischievous grin. Let the rats have Arthur's laundry tonight; Merlin will have the prince. For the sake of his grumbling stomach, he tried to sneak the last of the fallen apples into his pockets before turning to his master.

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**Now probably is the time for everyone who isn't enjoying slash to skip to the next bold letters at the end of this chapter. Its magic!**

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Arthur's swordbelt was already gone, and so were his trousers and boots, as he slowly approached his servant. Without the Camelot-red tunic, his still chainmail-protected chest allowed no distraction from this man's fighting-fit body. The shining metal mesh only emphasized a muscled breast, enwrapped broad shoulders, and showed no intention of bulging at that body's region where more lavish nobles might have acquired a more solemn, respectable girth.

His prince's tread was measured, deliberate, determined. A predator stalking his prey, his unblinking gaze erasing further jokes Merlin might have had readied on his lips. Erasing thoughts. Erasing free will. Merlin drowned in those eyes.

The chainmail clinked softly with every step Arthur took. Merlin's eyes followed their metallic shimmer to the pair of bare legs where the trousers should have been, the chainmail still covering the part where these two beauties met.

"Merlin, I really don't know what to do with you," Arthur sighed softly, as he took a step closer to his servant. With a firm clutch around the other man's lank hips he forced Merlin to turn around, not allowing the servant to indulge in his master's gorgeous appearance so unrestrainedly. Merlin offered no resistance as his prince gently loosened the lacings of his trousers, and the pants hit the floor with a thump. The purloined apple rolled out of its hiding place, exposing Merlin's transgression.

"Have you been stealing my food AGAIN, MERlin?"

Arthur gripped Merlin's wrists and twisted them behind his servant's back, leaving Merlin no escape. Undeterred by his captive's feeble squirming, Arthur leaned his weight against him, trapped him between his battle-hardened torso and the wooden locker's doors, closing them with a soft creak. The carvings dug sharply into the prisoner's cheek, painfully rubbing his cheek bone, allowing no retreat, no move, no defence.

Merlin's body was frozen in place, his mind foggy and sluggish, and his reply a repetitive stammering: "I wouldn't dream of it. I… I swear, I wouldn't."

A disapproving click of the tongue. A punitive twist of his arm. His prince was not fooled.

Merlin's trapped ear heard the wood creaking, the rats rustling. His exposed ear felt, more than heard, the prince's mouth nearing, and hot, scorching air steamed into its canal. His captor's breath prickled the wispy hair on the nape of his neck and sent a thrill down his spine, and when Arthur spoke, the hard voice resonated in his throat.

"Why was the apple in your pocket then? Are you trying to appear bigger than you are?"

Through the fog of Merlin's mind, the image Arthur had created slowly set in, and amusement flushed his face. "Have you been checking out my bulk then?" he teased, struggling to voice these words through shallow gasps. "You… ouch... clearly have no… oh… sense of an-ana-na- antomy, if you could… mistake the two."

Arthur inhaled sharply, causing goosebumps to rise on Merlin's sensitive skin. "Your insubordination is intolerable, Merlin. You should be punished for it."

_Punishment. Pain. Peril._

Something dark and dangerous stirred deep within Merlin, as vague fear settled in. His twisted shoulder felt like it was about to snap out of its joint, his mistreated cheekbone sore and raw. Pure magic throbbed through his veins, luring him, tempting him, promising a protection he knew he would never need, never want, never dare. Not with Arthur, his prat, his prince, his world.

But Arthur need not know it. Arthur need not think him easy. No kowtowing, no scraping right and left, no bootlickery, "_no sire!"_ Not him, not Merlin, he of all would not give in so readily. "I'd like to see you try," he growled, his breath hitching raggedly as if taken by surprise by his own courage. Or foolishness. But Arthur needed to see, needed to learn, needed to work for his desires. And Merlin could teach him, Merlin would...

A sudden, sharp pain in his earlobe. A quick, involuntary gasp from his lips. And a swelling turmoil in his veins.

"Oooy! Did you just bite me?"

"Shut up and obey me, idiot."

"Ass."

"Hm." The biting changed to nibbling, and Arthur's voice softened and slowed, seductive now. "You never learn, Merlin, do you?"

Merlin failed to answer. It was hard to focus on how to breathe when Arthur did this to his poor ears. It was challenging to keep his magic in check and prevent things from floating in midair. It was impossible to be sassy about it.

The nibbling stopped and Merlin felt robbed until...

"Let me show you how to walk on your knees," the prince whispered, and electric shudders shot through Merlin's body.

The suffocating pressure on his chest ended, when Arthur pulled back, dragging him along, depriving him of the support the sturdy wood had provided. His twisted arm was yanked up even more, increasing the flaring pain in his shoulder, forcing him to bend over. With a soft whimper he sank to his knees. His arm was released and the pain subsided. A reward for his surrender.

Arthur towered behind his servant, a satisfied smile on his lips. His whole body relaxed with the other man's submission. Gently he began kneading the cramped muscles in Merlin's shoulders, recirculating the blood flow, softening the tension, stroking away the pain he had inflicted.

Arthur thought himself a good teacher. He taught the young knights all they needed to know to survive. How to block, how to fight, how to read a battle. They were learning fast, these knights. They were learning from the best. From him.

For a servant to survive, that required a different skillset entirely. Arthur did not know whether he was the right one to teach him that. Because Merlin never made it easy for him. Merlin always spoke up, always defied, always fought. As a warrior Arthur admired this courage. As a leader he came to value it. Sometimes. As a lover he increasingly despaired. Merlin would get himself into serious trouble if he refused to learn some manners. To learn how to obey orders. Arthur could not protect him from everything, not when ingenuous Merlin always acted on the first impulses that sprang out of his foolish mind.

One single word that smelled like treason, directed to the king. To his father. Arthur would not be able to protect Merlin from him. Not if Uther meant it. But Merlin never learned. Fear crept into the warrior's heart, and Arthur pinched Merlin's shoulder a little too hard as punishment.

_Merlin._

Arthur needed more. Needed to see him. Needed to feel him. Slowly he removed the red neckerchief that has become Merlin's brand. That piece of cloth was so intertwined with Merlin's appearance by now that the marble-pale neck looked almost fragile without it, the unscarred skin almost glowing in the dim moonlit room. So soft, so vulnerable. Yet Arthur knew Merlin would brave death and sorcery to stay at his side. He had proven that, on many occasions. He was a riddle, this man.

Arthur's hungry fingers slipped past the ragged hem of the bleached blue tunic, his massage increasing in fervor, but, frustrated, he stopped. There still was too much fabric.

"Undress, Merlin."

Arthur could feel his servant's muscles tensing again, and for a moment the hushed, ragged gasp escaping trembling lips was the only indication Merlin gave that he had heard him. Then, sluggishly, the gangly arms came into motion, fiddling clumsily with that unshaped leather rag that was his servant's idea of a jacket. After winning the battle to bare the narrow shoulders to his caressing fingers, the idiot somehow managed to trap himself in his own sleeves and Arthur reached out to cut off this hapless endeavour.

Obediently, Merlin allowed Arthur to guide him through the next steps of unclothing and Arthur savoured it.

The offensively shabby jacket got discarded into some dark corner and Arthur could not care less if it was never to be found again. Merlin could afford better clothes, more fitting for a servant in his position, he _should_ wear better clothes, but that was just another matter where Merlin defied the rules.

Arthur involuntarily growled at that thought and his movements grew more impatient by the second. He didn't care if cloth was torn in the process. If Merlin moaned in feeble protest. If the neckline of the shirt was too tight and got trapped by Merlin's large ears because he could not be bothered by opening the lacings. Arthur demanded and Merlin had to comply.

By the time the prince held the prize of a threadbare blue linen tunic in hands, both men were panting in anticipation and Merlin's raven hair was pleasantly disheveled. Finally, bare skin could touch raw chainmail and Merlin flinched in surprise at its first touch.

Smiling a devilish smile, Arthur slipped one arm underneath Merlin's armpit only to bend it back again, and established a firm grip at the back of Merlin's neck. The chainmail sleeves of his hauberk entangled the helpless body into a chilly embrace, the unyielding grip pinning the lower man on the ground. The tight mesh of flattened, riveted metal rings scraped into the pristine skin yet this time he heard no whiny complaint.

Pleased with his finally submissive servant, Arthur shifted his hold to straighten himself into a more comfortable upright position. He had to get Merlin moving. This stupid corner framed by yet another redundant wardrobe was not where Arthur intended to loiter around for the remainder of this evening, no, not at all. This corner was something really only _Merlin_ could prefer over the royal bed sheets.

_Merlin._

Arthur needed him. Now. There. And he would make him walk all way on his knees, just because.

Because Merlin needed to learn, needed to listen, needed to obey. He was Arthur's responsibility, he was Arthur's and Arthur would claim him, possess him, use him until Merlin would shatter beneath his touch.

His hand was still on the nape of Merlin's neck, pushing the other man down, when Arthur led Merlin all across the room, not allowing him to stand up until Arthur had him where he wanted. There the prince pulled him into an upright position, forcing the exposed skin of his servant's backside to chafe at the hauberk he was wearing. The hauberk Merlin should have removed before his master had to demand it. But his servant just never learned. The rough chainmail now had reddened the alabaster hued skin and Arthur found it the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

The proof of his arousal already throbbing painfully against the inside of the last layer he wore, Arthur still took the time admiring the slender frame of the slightly taller male.

Patiently Merlin stood before him, his head bowed respectfully, his wide ears displaying a lovely pink blush as he bathed himself in his prince's incessant attention. Tiny, rushed breaths made his lean shoulders quiver like a rabbit's chest.

Arthur dug his fingers into the mess of black hair, so different from his own gold, and inhaled the strong, male scent. Merlin instantly responded with a soft whining noise and tried to reach behind him without daring to turn around. A sharp slap from Arthur's hands stopped these unwanted activities.

"Touch me again, Merlin, and I will have you thrown into the stocks," he growled deeply. Merlin gave an almost purring sound in response, but his arms went limp again.

"Good boy," Arthur whispered. His hand recaptured Merlin's neck to force him to scramble onto the bed. Better to busy these meddlesome little hands with something useful, he decided. Placing the eager, restless fingers on either side of a velveteen pillow, he made Merlin to lean over onto his forearms. Thus the servant was to carry his own weight if he didn't want his face to be pressed into the pillow. Either was fine with Arthur.

To probe Merlin's resolve Arthur leaned in and used his own weight to apply more pressure on his servant's back. Now the slender arms sprung to life, offering him resistance, revealing the faint beginnings of shaped muscles.

With his free hand Arthur traced the lines of Merlin's triceps. "Looks like our training is finally showing some results here." Satisfied, he pinched the soft skin underneath his rough fingers, feeling the firmness underneath. "Soon we can make the shield a tad heavier for better challenge, what do you think?"

Merlin hated the training sessions, Arthur knew that, but now, only his servant's head tilted upwards in silent defiance, showing Arthur that he actually bit his bottom lip to hold back an unwise, canny retort.

Panting, head turning sideways, Merlin's eyes found his.

And Arthur knew, Merlin was ready. He knew it by the sight of Merlin's dazed, unseeing eyes, his long fluttering eyelashes, his half opened mouth sucking in the air violently as if it was too thick to breathe. Merlin was his.

His own body radiating lust, Arthur pushed Merlin further towards the bed's center to make way for himself. The heavy weight of his chainmail tore on his shoulders, but he mounted the bed as a conqueror. The hard mattress barely gave in to his knees, the wood creaked softly and the silk blankets caressed his skin like a cool lover's hand. Arthur smelled almond soap and sun dried cloth and Merlin, masculine and muscy.

The gate was tight, but Arthur held the right key. The key to sin, the key to pleasure, the key to endless bliss.

"Let's open this gate to Avalon, shall we?" he whispered seductively and was rewarded by a dreamy grin on Merlin's lips. Carefully he prepared the lock and key with gentle strokes of slick butter. Heavy olive perfume mingled with the intoxicating scent of lust, until Arthur could not hold back any longer.

He demanded entry.

Merlin groaned and writhed, but there was no escape, so he submitted to the prince's demand, welcomed him in and enwrapped him in the only embrace the prince would allow him.

Now they rode together, forgetting their surroundings, forgetting their social ranks, forgetting all normative restrictions society forced upon them, their pleasure being their only focus. Oblivious to the sickly pale handmaiden watching paralysed from out their wardrobe they reached the peak of ecstasy uttering unintelligible groans, and it was during this moment of greatest satisfaction the horrified witness chose to flee the scene, unnoticed by the unlikely lovers.

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**You did it. You managed to make it through my first loveplay scene. There might be more on the way, if suitable, but I will concentrate on sticking true to the story. If there is to come another, yer will be warned!**

**And if you didn't read the section above, be assured that dear Gwen eventually escaped that rather uncomfortable place, not before witnessing what you would rather not. Now on to the next page.**


	3. Chapter 3 - The Maiden's Pain

**T****he Witch's Aria**

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**Chapter 3 - The Maiden's Pain**

Impatiently, Morgana paced up and down her chamber for what felt like an eternity. Gwen had left her in the last light of day. Now the moon had already risen high enough to shine over the castle walls, peeking through her windows.

_What on earth was that girl doing?_

Yes, she hadn't been overly enthusiastic when Morgana entrusted her with the task, but it clearly was in both their interests. Morgana wasn't fooled by Gwen's pretence for one second. She recognized the confused stammering her sharp maid attempted every time she spoke to that Merlin as signs of a shy, innocent affection. Gwen acted differently when he was around, always checking on her proper appearance, secretly shooting glances to check whether he was looking or not.

Morgana recognized these signs, because she felt the same. Not for that child Merlin, great goddess forbid, but for the great warrior that was Arthur.

She had always enjoyed their little bickering and mocking and flirting game, never shy of a good tease or two. His pride never failed to lead him into her little traps, and eventually he would have to grudgingly admit he liked her, too.

For everyone in the castle it sure was the most natural thing in the world that she and Arthur would eventually end up as king and queen of Camelot. Morgana, orphaned noble lady and ward of the king; Arthur, his only son and precious heir to the throne. What better way to care for his ward than to marry her to his beloved son, thus securing the line of the Pendragons with the ones closest to him?

King Uther never once gave any hints to propose her to any of his numerous noble bachelors, and it certainly wasn't due to lack of interest on the gentlemen's side. She knew she was beautiful and probably the most desired maiden in the kingdom.

Which made the hurt even more painful.

It must have started when that good-for-nothing serving boy first caught Arthur's attention, although she hadn't realized it then. His charming, humble manners paired with an almost suicidally sassy tongue, that never seemed to pose any threats. On the contrary, she'd even enjoyed them, since he only ever directed his worst impudencies to the prince, in a way even she never dared. It was fun at first, to see the condescending, always confident prince left speechless.

But since then she had watched them. Caught glances no one else was supposed to see, of wordless understanding, glances so intimate they'd have made her knees weak. Glances she once had shared with the prince, of hidden secrets and unfulfilled promises.

Then she had noticed the bickering had stopped. Arthur still approached her in an affectionate, respectful manner, friendly even, in his own, patronizing way, but it was not his friendship she longed for. Why did his hand-kisses started to feel like a brother's love rather than a silent promise? How could his hugs be so firm, so compassionate and yet be lacking so much of what she thought she had felt before?

Before, he would visit her in her chambers in the evenings, however improper King Uther may have deemed their actions. Improper yet tolerated. Now they had stopped. And Morgana _needed_ to know why.

"Arrrrgh!" In a sudden burst of anger, she snatched a pillow from her bed and hurled it across the room against the cruelly unmoving door. But that door then wasn't unmoving at all. The handle lifted, the door opened, and Gwen stood on the threshold. Unable to react in time, Gwen didn't do so much as lift her hands to block the flying cushion. It hit her in the face and tumbled down to her feet.

Morgana rushed towards her expectantly and, since her servant made no further step inside, she pulled her by the hand to close the door behind.

Gwen's hands were trembling in hers and Morgana felt obliged to apologize for the unwarranted attack. "Sorry, Gwen, that pillow wasn't aimed at you," she reassured the girl, caressing her hands in her own.

Slowly, Gwen shook her head. "No, my lady, it's no..." She was lost for words.

Now, in the lights of the fully lit chandelier, Morgana noticed the girl's bloodless pallor. She had never seen the girl's healthy hazelnut hued skin so pale, almost sickly, and she knew it was not the pillow what had upset Gwen. Her worst fears crept up on her, mocking her, slowly making her heart bleed. She hadn't been imagining things. She had been right. And now she would finally hear the truth. The premonition clumped cold as frozen rivers in her stomach.

"So, Arthur has another, then?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice from trembling. "Who is she? Is she more beautiful than me? More queenly? In what gutter did Merlin unearth a girl that could trump a lady?"

In wordless horror, Gwen avoided her stare. "Mer-, Mer -, Merlin," she stammered.

"Yes?" Morgana fought her hardest to maintain her posture in front of that lowly girl. "What about Merlin? He did procure her, didn't he? Or did he even stay? Did he watch? Was he..." A thought crossed her mind, unasked for, but when she looked at Gwen's miserable expression she couldn't ignore it, "Was he part of it? Did he do the little slut, too?"

How did Merlin even manage to sneak a girl into Arthur's chambers? Not even the guards had noticed anything unusual ever, except for Merlin being late and slow in his chores. No shady movements, no strange visitors, nothing at all. She had tried them first for information.

Clenching her fists, Morgana turned to look out the window. She dug her fingernails deep into her flesh to prevent herself from shaking poor Gwen, who evidently must have witnessed things her innocent, protected life never prepared her for. Morgana was the lady, she had to show strength now, for both their sakes.

Behind her, Gwen took a deep breath. "There was no other girl, my lady," she finally managed.

Morgana spun around and studied her servant's face for traces of betrayal. Was Gwen even now trying to cover up for Merlin?

"No girl?" she echoed in disbelief.

"The prince, Prince Arthur, he... made... made Merlin do things for him." Gwen's voice was barely audible, shame and confusion finally returning colour to her cheeks.

Morgana frowned, mildly irritated. This was no news to her.

"Of course he does, Gwen. Merlin is his manservant."

"It is more than that!" the girl exclaimed in despair. "I think, Prince Arthur, he... he forced himself upon Merlin!"

There. She had said it. And silence filled the room.


	4. Chapter 4 - Rise and Shine

**The Witch's Aria**

* * *

**Chapter 4 - Rise and Shine**

The next morning found Arthur sprawled across his comfortable large bed, half entangled in his bed sheets. Stretching drowsily, Arthur tried to remember what was planned for the day, but he didn't try too hard. He had Merlin to remind him of these things. It most likely involved some patrolling for his father or hitting some lord's son who had the boldness to challenge him for the knightly accolade.

Where was his useless toad of a servant anyway? He was supposed to bring him his breakfast at seven. Not that Arthur would complain about being allowed to sleep in for a change, and for once not to hear...

"Rise and shine!"

Arthur heard the sound of heavy curtains being violently torn open just before the merciless sun launched an attack of bright light to his eyes.

"MERLIN!" he shouted angrily, pulling a pillow over his face.

"Ah, no, sire, not gonna happen," Merlin objected in a tone dangerously close to an order. The pillow was snatched from his grip and so would have been his blankets, if he hadn't had the presence of mind to secure them with his bodyweight. Cold air swept in from the opened windows and Arthur readied himself for the chill to reach his... exposed... bare... chest?

Merlin only stood there, wearing a stupid, sheepish smile on his face, watching Arthur's unsuccessful struggle against awakening.

"Have you slept in your chainmail the whole night, sire?" He sounded genuinely curious, or he would have if Arthur hadn't remember last night's activities that instant.

"No," he replied, irritated, "I just woke up bright and early, and decided to put this bloody hauberk on before returning to bed, idiot."

"If you say so, sire." Merlin cocked his head in a failed attempt to hide his amusement. "Maybe I should ask the blacksmith to make you some royal chainmail bed sheets, then? I can only imagine spending a night in a prince's bed is a rather dangerous thing to do."

"I'll show you what's dangerous!"

Now fully awake, Arthur jumped out of bed and chased after Merlin, who laughingly ducked away without even having the modesty to show the slightest concern to the prince's threat.

"And where have you been, MERlin? Sneaking out in the middle of the night, and leaving me to sleep in my clothes?" It was a fair point in Arthur's opinion.

"Where have I..." Now Merlin was really left speechless, Arthur was pleased to notice, but that blissful state only lasted a moment.

"I don't know if you do realize servants have to eat and sleep occasionally, too? For the whole last day, I was made your living punching bag, and not only for you, no, your aspiring knights got their run at me, too, because oh, _it's just MERlin, he doesn't mind, do you?_ Oh, and don't forget to polish my armour, MERlin, repair my gear, MERlin, I might have dented it, too, during a silly prank involving mindlessly hitting each other, and don't be late with my lunch, MERlin, because guess what, the WHOLE afternoon we will be working on your speed and agility during moving target practice, _cheers_, and serving dinner at the king's table will be your very special reward for the evening before being the dessert for His Royal Prattyness himself! Sometimes I really wonder if you believe me to be a human being or not."

Merlin's interpretation of his voice and attitude was both disconcertingly close to what Arthur knew was the truth and ridiculously over the edge. He listened, dumbfounded, to his servant's outbreak, trying not to feel ashamed by those accusing, honest blue eyes of the lesser man. He failed.

"Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?" he inquired softly, not at all angry now.

Merlin, unsure whether this change of mood in his prince meant he was in trouble or not, chewed on his lower lip, uncomfortably shifting from one leg to the other. "No," he managed faintly, trying to remember what he actually blabbed out in his too-quick-for-thinking-rant. Gaius would be so mad having to clean rotten fruit out of his hair _again_.

"Good," the prince said, stretching luxuriously and exaggerating a yawn. "I guess that means you can stop looking like a total buffoon now, help me get dressed, and fetch me some breakfast."

Merlin's expression changed from worried to annoyed so quickly Arthur would have missed him moving a muscle at all if he hadn't been paying attention.

"Are you even listening to me?" his servant complained fretfully, glaring at Arthur beneath furrowed eyebrows, his head shaking in disbelief. Nonetheless he thankfully stepped forward to help Arthur slip out of that stupidly heavy chainmail at last.

Bending forward, Arthur felt the metal mesh tuck at his hair, because the boy struggled with the weight too much to be able to safely guide it over his master's head. Arthur's suddenly unburdened shoulders felt light and easy as they welcomed the newly found freedom. He expanded his unrestrained torso in a deep breath. Then he looked at his petulant manservant with narrowed eyes, hiding his smirk in a well trained priviledged's mask.

"I don't have to listen to my servants, MERlin, and be glad I don't listen too closely, otherwise I would have to think of a really nasty punishment right now."

That helped to shut up the boy for a while, but Arthur was surprised to discover that new silence just as unnerving. Tight-lipped and twitchy, Merlin fumbled with the leather strings of his gambeson and stripped him of his sweated undertunic.

Heavily laden, Merlin tumbled away to stash the training armour away somewhere and to fetch something fresh and more suitable for the morning routine. His heavy breathing and scuffing steps were the only sound in the room and Arthur was painfully aware of that.

Merlin _did_ look thinner than when they had first met. But then, Merlin only now started to get a glimpse at some real work, after all. There was bound to be some weight loss after he had left his mother's care in his well-protected and happy, peaceful village-life. There was still a long way to go for the country boy to truly find his place in Camelot. But that didn't mean Arthur had to made it unreasonably harsh for him either.

When the stubbornly silent servant helped him into a nice red tunic and a comfortable leather jacket, adorned with brass buttons, Arthur held him back by his shoulder. Merlin looked up to him, wearily.

"Just for the record, I DO believe you are human," Arthur said, breaking the awkward silence and a tiny smile returned to Merlin's lips. "And you are right, maybe I should be looking after your needs better."

The mischievous grin that formed on the boy's face, caught him off guard and he blushed.

"Your... other needs I mean, your basic... oh, don't look so happy. Shut up and fetch me something to eat. I am sure you can manage that!"

"Oh, I think not!" Merlin replied merrily. _He really was an idiot_, Arthur thought, growing hungrier by the second and not liking it. Merlin must have concluded the same because after a worried glance at Arthur's darkening expression he was quick to add: "Didn't I tell you? You will be feasting with the king this morning."

Could this morning get any worse?


	5. Chapter 5 - Haunting Memories

**The Witch's Aria**

* * *

**Chapter 5 - Haunting Memories**

Maybe it was the aftermath of his fight with Arthur, but Merlin couldn't help feeling something was off at the royal breakfast table today.

The king was moody as ever, his manservant George eager to anticipate his every wish before Uther himself knew he had it. Nothing new there. The prince was broody, although Merlin had no illusions it could be over something he had said earlier. Arthur probably just was thinking about ways to persuade his father of relieving him from patrolling duties today, as if that spoiled prat ever had any real duties to attend to.

But today not even the Lady Morgana managed to brighten up the mood with one of her usual pleasantries that somehow always sounded like mockeries. She looked beautiful as ever, but she, too, was unusually quiet, as if something was bothering her. There was definitely something very unsettling about the way she looked at Merlin. Her unfathomable gaze followed him through the room while he attended the prince and occasionally herself, and he resisted the sudden, ridiculous urge to hide behind a pillar. Should he feel flattered by her attention? Or scared? He could not decide.

Quizzical, he tried to catch Gwen's eye, who had shown up late to wait on her lady. When she finally arrived, Merlin was struck by how pale she looked. Something was upsetting her.

Had Morgana had another dream?

Merlin knew from Gaius, that Morgana had nightmares since her early childhood, and sometimes, many times, those dreams had come true. To Merlin, this screamed magic, although Gaius always dismissed the thought as utter nonsense.

Morgana, on the other hand, she had begun to suspect. She had even warned Arthur once, having dreamt about that _Sidhe_ girl that had attempted to drown the lovestruck dollop-head. Not that anyone heeded her warnings then. But when she saw her dreams come true almost to the word, she surely would have had to be a total thick-headed turnip, (here Merlin mentally caressed _Arthur's_ blonde hair affectionately,) not to notice that these dreams meant something.

Did they mean anything now? Did she dream another threat to Arthur's life? To the king's? To Camelot?

During a moment of respite – George had gone in over his head and served all three a very special dish he had prepared – Merlin caught Gwen in a private corner and took a closer look at her puffy red eyes.

"Have you been crying?" he asked, alarmed. "Gwen, are you all right?"

The look she gave him puzzled Merlin even more. She looked almost pitying, apologetic.

"Y-yes, Merlin. I'm all right." She attempted a reassuring smile with not much success; he saw her white lie in the way her eyes flickered. "What about you?"

"What about me?" He gave her a puzzled look.

Her eyes almost involuntarily jerked towards the table, where Their Royal Sulkynesses were failing to sustain a normal conversation, and the smug king's servant was outdoing himself with new heights of boringness, telling jokes about polishing. Merlin suppressed a giggle, not because of the quality of the joke, but because of the impatient shifting the prince displayed during this cringe-worthy performance. He clearly needed to kill someone, something, anything.

"How could he do such a thing?" Gwen whispered, then hastily hid her mouth in shock as if she hadn't meant to say anything.

"Mh, search me," Merlin mused, "I guess he just can't help it. It is not his fault he is a supercilious simpleton."

Gwen eyed him with an intensity Merlin didn't expect. "You don't mind, then?" she asked.

He shrugged lightly. "As long as he meddles his own business and bores Uther more than he bores us, I really don't mind his occasional presence here. Less work for us then, is it not?"

"Uther...? Oh, its _George_ you are talking about."

"Of course. What were _you_ talking about?"

"Never mind." Gwen hurriedly busied herself refilling cups that were in no need of refilling at all and suddenly Merlin was painfully aware the Lady Morgana had watched them for quite some time now.

_What on earth was wrong with her?_

Suddenly annoyed, he found himself paying her a deep, mocking bow accompanied with some very exaggerated eye rolling. It's not like he did nothing during their breakfast! She really could save herself those berating glances.

-o-o-o-

When finally this breakfast was over – Arthur didn't succeed in evading patrolling duties – Merlin thanked all the nature spirits of patience and self-restraint to have him guided through it. He didn't think he could have managed looking at preposterous George for just one more second before bursting into outright laughter which would have definitely intensified the dark looks Morgana had already given him for no apparent reason at all. Well, almost none. Maybe he shouldn't have grinned so unrestrainedly when he learned Arthur would spend the rest of his day on horseback and he, Merlin, wouldn't, but not hearing mace clanging for a day would make quite a nice change. Merlin would certainly not feel guilty about that.

This royal family really was a mess. What Merlin had done to piss off destiny so much it would have him stuck with three dysfunctional sociopaths was beyond his knowledge, but here he was. Running the castle and saving their royal backsides more times than he cared to remember.

It's not that he didn't enjoy it. It would just be nice for a change if anyone knew what he was really capable of. What he was really doing. Anyone besides Gaius, who honestly didn't count and wasn't really that impressed by Merlin, given that he constantly had to talk his ward out of the cells or tend to potatoe-shaped bruises on his face.

At least today Merlin probably wouldn't have to worry about anything unusual happening. With Arthur away and Gaius in town tending the common folk, it would almost feel like he had the day off. Humming merrily, he was now actually looking forward doing Arthur's laundry. Well, not to doing laundry itself, but to the opportunity to browse through some of the spell books the most recent regicidal visitors had kindly left behind, while the laundry did itself. He didn't get his magic gifts for nothing!

-o-o-o-

In the evening, it was time again to wait upon his prince. With a shiny, now flawless breastplate left behind in the armoury and a stack of freshly washed regal tunics tucked beneath his arm, he idly made his way through the servant's sections of Camelot Castle. They were quiet at this time of the day, since most of the domestics finished duty with a good portion of daylight left. They had their own households to attend to after all, and what good would that be in the dark.

Merlin liked the abandoned corridors. It was the only solitude he could actually and wholeheartedly enjoy. Here he was safe, here he felt at home in a way he hadn't even felt in Ealdor, where he had spent his whole childhood. In the forest or let alone in _them blasted ruins_ Arthur kept dragging him in, he had to assume assassins on his royal protégé behind every tree trunk. Not only bandits, smugglers, wolves or bears, no, even griffins, giant scorpions or unicorns waited there to test Merlin's protection. Well, technically, the latter he had to protect from the stupidity of a certain cabbage head, although the prince might have learned that lesson by now.

_Cabbage head._ Hopefully he didn't stumble on some other sacred beast this time, slaying it without any knowledge that taking lives had consequences, and taking magical lives even more so.

Maybe Merlin _should_ have come with him, whatever his chores had been? They would have found a nice resting spot, hidden from view, and Merlin would have shown him what life really meant. How the forest was brimming with it. How he could make Arthur brimming with life, resonating with the heartbeat of the earth, feeling the world as Merlin felt it.

Dreamingly engulfed in thoughts about what he would do for the prince, if he would only let him, Merlin found himself rudely interrupted.

"Merlin! Stop humming that horrid tune!" a familiar voice hissed and a strong jerking grip stopped him dead in his tracks, whirling him around to the woman that had been hidden from Merlin's sight in one of the many nooks. Startled, Merlin nearly dropped his laundry on the not so tidy floor.

"Morgana!" he cried out in surprise. This servant's section was nowhere near Morgana's chambers, yet she stood there in a doorway's arch to an unoccupied room and pinned him with her obscure gaze. What was she doing down here?

"You cannot be heard humming that," she snapped surprisingly aggressive. "Uther will have your head for that!" Merlin blinked in mild terror, thinking her face was expressing the very same notion at the moment. Hissing and snapping, baring her teeth like that she reminded him of a vicious cat smelling a challenger to her territory. Something definitely was very wrong with her. He had forgotten to ask Gwen about her dreams, he scolded himself.

"I," Merlin frowned, "I didn't realize I hummed anything."

"_Blå chiën, barån fwealah?"_

Merlin looked with shock as he heard the haunting incantation from Morgana's lips. The witch's aria, of course. The incident with Lady Helen, or rather the witch Mary Collins impersonating her. He may have covered his ears back then on that fateful day, but the words of a mourning mother over the loss of her only son had never left him. How could Morgana remember?

"Oh, don't look so shocked, Merlin," Morgana sneered. "In my sleep I keep hearing this, over and over, and I wondered what it meant. I could never forget." With a cold, accessing look she added: "Neither could you, it would seem."

"Uh." Merlin offered her his Merlin-is-a-fool-smile. "It still is a nice melody. And it was quite a dramatic introduction into the royal household for me."

Something changed. She narrowed her eyes, hesitantly. He felt he was on the right track. "You know, with the magic ban annuals nearing once again... it's just some memories, that's all," he added accordingly, observing her reaction.

"Of course you wouldn't forget either," she mumbled, more to herself than to him. Her vicious cat face had disappeared and the kind, thoughtful Morgana came into view. "It's the annual day you were made Arthur's manservant."

Once again, Merlin was surprised how well things could be hidden behind a fool's mask. How easily even perceptive people like Morgana readily believed a simpleton's foolishness rather than the autonomous actings of servants. Being a fool hardly erased the crime of knowing and actually humming a sorceress' song, but yet the threat was somehow rendered mere trifling by the revelation of a, supposedly, vastly inferior mind behind it.

Pointedly looking down to where her already aching grip still held him in place, he wordlessly asked permission to go on with his duties. But she wouldn't take the hint. Only loosening her hold on him slightly, she just looked at him for a long while. Up this close, it made him even more uneasy than this morning at breakfast. What did she look for? What did she see? Politely and very against his normal instinct, he lowered his gaze, allowing the lady to assess him as she wished. He wished himself very far away.

The hold on his arm became a short, maybe apologetic stroke and Merlin froze. What was that for? "Come inside, Merlin. If you have a moment," she said softly, chin pointing towards the door behind her.

"Morgana, I don't think..."

Despite his deep love for Arthur and despite all his reasonable reservations to her character, Morgana's beauty still made his body temperature rise and his heartbeat race up in a futile awe, a worship beyond reach. Following her into a lonely chamber in a far off part of the castle was hardly an appropriate thing to do.

"Don't worry, Merlin. No one will hear us talk there."

_My point exactly_, he thought but couldn't bring himself to free his arm from her now gentle grasp as she pulled him in and closed the door.


	6. Chapter 6 - Impossible Friends

**The Witch's Aria**

* * *

**Chapter 6 - Impossible Friends**

Stiffly, he stood in attendance at the door, deciding for a respectful formal posture as he watched her lighting the candles in the room. Her salmon pink silk dress rustled softly as she walked, making the only sound in the room. As she turned towards him, he lowered his head decently, waiting for her to speak.

The rustling stopped, but the silence endured. His tension increased and involuntarily he bit his lips. "If this is about the breakfast..." he burst out, "I... I'm sorry if-"

"It's been nearly two years now, hasn't it?" Morgana interrupted him not unfriendly.

"Two years?"

"Since you have been ordered to serve Arthur."

"Yes?" he answered cautiously.

Her voice was mild and a quick glance into her face revealed nothing but genuine kindness. But then it was Morgana and he had seen her perform astounding acts of integrity in front of Uther when she secretly despised him. Merlin knew that, because he had followed her into the woods once, had overheard her conversation with an assassin to plan on how to kill the king. Admittedly, that was right after Uther had ordered to kill Gwen's father and had thrown his own ward into the dungeons for disobedience, even having her chained to the walls while at it. And yes, in the end she had come to her senses again, fending off and even killing the assassin she formerly conspired with, although for Merlin this didn't make it any better. But witnessing her quick transformation from rightfully outraged lady to vengeful conspirator to rueful as-good-as-daughter with deadly plans in the backhands in the brink of one day had made him wary around her.

"Did you ever regret being at that feast that day?" she asked and he just stared blankly at his toes, unsure what she expected him to answer.

"Regret savin' Arthur's life? No," he said finally.

"Regret becoming his manservant?"

"I am happy to serve Arthur." he replied, carefully suppressing any emotional response. He couldn't let her see the dreamy smile he knew was forcing to emerge, a smile that would bend his lips into a give-away love-struck grin. She was way too perceptive not to make the connection and she Must Not Know. No one could, the prince had been adamant on that matter. Someday that might change. Someday Arthur would understand. He just had to. It was their destiny.

Lost in wistful thoughts, Merlin flinched violently as a gentle hand came to rest on his shoulders and a light finger tried to examine the new bruise on his cheek. Morgana was quick to withdraw from the startled servant and worry painted her face.

Merlin tried to refocus to the situation at hand. "Rough train'n lately, it's noth'n." As to prove his words, he smiled sheepishly. Would she believe it?

"I am not going to hurt you," she soothed him for some reason and he blinked at her in confusion.

"I know," he said.

But now she seemed convinced, she had a scared puppy under her care, rather than a lowly servant that surpassed her own height by at least one head's length, because she stepped back several inches, showing him her slightly raised, empty hands as a gesture of peace.

"You know I considered you a friend since you have helped me save an innocent boy from execution," Morgana began anew and Merlin could tell she chose her words carefully. "I trust you, Merlin."

A knot tightened in his throat and he couldn't stand looking at her.

"And I want you to know, you can trust me too."

Oh how he wished that would be true. How he wished, the hints of black shadows in her soul had been just tricks his mind had played on him. Only momentary weaknesses quickly overcome by a strong and guileless will. How he wished he could believe, that the woman, who rushed to his aid at Ealdor's distress call, who cared for the protection of the innocent, however lowly they might be, more than her own safety, that this woman was the true Morgana. But he could not. And shame washed over him. For all she had ever done for him was led by kindness.

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face because she sighed in frustration. Now she seemed to have decided on a more straightforward route, to what ends Merlin still couldn't fathom.

"I have noticed, Arthur preoccupies you rather extensively lately," she said bluntly. "Hardly granting you any respite, calling you early, retiring you unusually late." She made a pause to look up to the rapidly darkening window as to prove her point. "I couldn't help but wonder..."

She stopped, as his face jerked up to watch her in silent horror. Had she noticed? Who else had? How much did she know? Realizing his mistake, he struggled to get his treacherous mimics back in control and hunched over in a respectful yet hiding bow again. "He'd been prepar'n hard for that big tourn'ment, m'lady," he mumbled, defending his prince.

"Which he didn't participate in at the end. That foreign knight won."

Merlin didn't say anything. Of course it had been a disguised Arthur who won, but he had chosen not to reveal himself in the end. To prove to Merlin he was not a boaster who did this just for the fame, Merlin suspected. As if that royal prat could fool him for one second. He smiled at that thought.

"There, you see," Morgana smiled back. "You enjoyed it while Arthur was away, leaving you behind? Like today when you were happy he rode to patrol without you?" Seemingly encouraged now, she drew closer, though not attempting to touch him again.

His smile died. What was she talking about? Couldn't she listen?

"I've known Arthur since I was ten years old." Morgana's voice now had the monotonous touch of someone who was retelling bad memories and Merlin swallowed a defiant answer. "Living side by side, only a few years older than he was, and suddenly left adrift in the world, I got to know him better than anyone else, including even himself. I have seen how he treats his servants. How he always has. How he treats everyone he believes beneath his prowess, which includes everyone except for the king himself"

Merlin heard sudden steel in her voice, a raspy, sharp edge that made him look up. Tears welled up in the eyes of the daughter of Camelot, but she refused to shed them.

"You were the first servant ever to speak up to him and that is what thrills him. It challenges the worst in him, a darkness only few can see."

Listening closely, Merlin frowned. This sounded awkwardly intimate. Maybe she really knew more of Arthur than he thought.

"What I am trying to say is... Arthur listens to me. You are not the only one to speak up to him. And if... " Her voice trailed off hesitantly, "if he mistreats you in any way, if he hurts you, I can help."

Merlin couldn't help it any longer. His face flushed a bright red from neck to hair line and sweat started pouring out every inch of his skin from the sheer effort to hold back a saucy grin. Memories kept rushing in, unasked for, of all the times he had been hurt by his prince ever so delicately, leaving him pleasantly sore for days.

Jittery he flung his arms around himself, forgetting his posture entirely and dug his fingernails deep into the tunic and his skin underneath. Gritting his teeth, he forced those memories back, repeating in his mind over and over: "She Must Not Know. She Must Not Know. She Must Not Know."

When he trusted his face enough, he looked up again, offering her something he thought of as an innocent enough smile and breathed a slight, "That is very kind of you" in reply. "But you really don't need to. I... I am happy to serve Arthur. Till the day I die." And the moment he said that, he knew it was true.

And finally, finally, it seemed to be enough for Morgana, since she opened and closed her mouth again but gave no answer. No further question. Nothing.

Regaining his bearings anew he took a small bow and asked courteously, "Is there anything else, my lady?"

"No, Merlin," she said, and the sudden sadness in her voice baffled him.

Nearly shaking with relief he exited the precarious little room and rushed down the long corridor to turn round the next corner. His knees felt weak, when he found a dimly lit nook to lean against the cold stone, regaining his breath. With his heartbeat slowly returning towards a normal pace, he closed his eyes for a moment. That had been a close one, he thought in utter exhaustion.


	7. Chapter 7 - Hidden Demons

**The Witch's Aria**

* * *

**Chapter 7 - Hidden Demons**

Morgana was left behind, watching the frantic flight of the one she had sought to help with deepest concern. This was so much worse than she had thought. All good heavens, what has Arthur done to that chatty, sassy boy to have him coiling away like that from every word she said?

How could she have thought Merlin was to blame somehow for the lack of attention her prince gave her. Shame and hatred poured through her body, a pairing all too familiar. Shame for herself, for suspecting the least responsible of all and hatred for the one who had inflicted that. Again. He had _sworn_ to her, he had moved on. He had grown past that. He had learned his lesson. But it appeared, her sacrifice had meant nothing. It appeared, Arthur Pendragon was just as cruel a monster as his father was, even worse maybe, since he could hide his demons so well behind the regal mask.

That last sentence Merlin had said, before he took his leave, gave her the chills. "I am happy to serve Arthur. Till the day I die." He had said it twice, actually. Flatly, expressionless the first time, like a phrase learned by heart. But in the end he had looked her dead in the eyes, a determination in his own large bulbs that she had never seen before in him, and he had spoken thus without the slightest waver in his voice.

A determination she had only ever seen in battle-worn soldiers, heading away in what might well be their last battle. A determination just like her father, Lord Gorlois, had shown, before he had gone to his doom. Only that Merlin was no soldier.

_Till the day I die. Till the day I die._

Why...

Then it struck her like a lightning bolt. Oh, that _foolish_ boy! Arthur would so pay for this! If Merlin was to take any steps to shorten his life to escape Arthur, the so called crowned Prince of Camelot would never have a happy second for the entire remainder of his sorry excuse for a life! He HAD PROMISED!

A strange sensation tingled in Morgana's fingers as she reached that conclusion. The candles flickered eerily as she extinguished them one by one, despite the closed window. Must be a crack in the wall, Morgana assumed. These servant wings tended to be neglected in terms of repair work.

Upon exiting, she stumbled over a heap of formerly neatly folded clothes. Arthur's clothes, she recognized with a new flash of anger and concern. Merlin must have dropped them in his desperate attempt to escape. The heavy, wooden door swung back and forth without her doing. Yet she felt no breeze.

Slightly spooked, she left towards her chambers, reckless plans already forming in her mind, only to be discarded, reshaped and formed again. First and foremost she needed Merlin to be watched. At all times. He was not to be left alone before she had forced some reason into that intolerable royal gargoyle of a prince.

"Gwen!" she called as soon as she was in the relative safety of her rooms, "Guinevere!"

"My lady?" From behind a corner her maid's head popped out to meet her gaze, a drenched cleaning rag clutched tight in her fingers.

"You are dripping," Morgana remarked, eyeing the growing pool of water assembling on her carpet.

"Oh, forgive me, my lady!" The girl's brown eyes widened in shock and she vanished again. Sounds of water splashing suggested she wrought the cloth properly, then she reappeared to dry up the mishap. Although being too well educated to speak out of place, Morgana could literally see the big questions written on Gwen's worriedly wrinkled forehead.

_Have you found Merlin? Have you spoken to him? Is he alright?_

Where to begin, Morgana thought wearily. But there was no way of putting this gently.

"Gwen, how well do you know Merlin?"

"He... I don't know. Sometimes I think there is more to him than he shows us. He rarely ever talks about himself, really. It's mostly about me, or A-Arthur."

Morgana nodded. She had suspected as much. "Did he ever tell you how he thinks about death?"

Gwen looked at her in wild confusion. "Why on earth would he be wanting to talk about death?" she asked. "He is always so cheerful, and death is so... so... not... cheerful..." The eyes of her maid went blank as a memory crept back, but Morgana was too agitated to notice.

_The ghost of Merlin's face reappeared within Gwen's view, framed by Morgana's bedroom windows, staring right at her with a stark expression on his face, as if the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders. As if all joy had disappeared from the world and left nothing but darkness in its wake. "But what if you had... you know - the choice," Ghost Merlin said to her, a voice as deep as if he spoke out of his grave. "What would you do? If you had the power – of life and death. Would you kill him? For what he did?"_

"The death is not cheerful," Morgana scoffed, giving her maid a telling look. The greatest poet of the world certainly wasn't the one wiping her floors. Morgana stalled. She knew it.

"Did he ever give any hint he would wish his own death?"

With a muffled whumph Gwen lost command over her knees and slumped down on Morgana's not quite dry carpet. With ashen face she took in the whole meaning behind Morgana's question.

_Gwen thought she had forgotten. They had been talking about Uther that day, a mere play of thoughts, a means to comfort her in her mourning her father's death. So she had thought. But what if it has had nothing to do with Uther? Those eyes were staring at her as if awaiting her judgement. As if they were granting her this power he spoke of. A sentence that was hers to speak. Which would have made no sense regarding Uther. What power could Merlin have possibly had over the king._

_But what if he had spoken of himself instead?_

_She tried to remember what she had answered. Something rejecting the thought no doubt. But she did remember the surprised look on his face. The genuinely surprised, disbelieving look, demanding an explanation for why not to end a life._

_"What would that solve?" She had said. She remembered now. What would that solve. Ice filled her from within. How long had she failed to notice?_

"We need to watch Merlin," Gwen said, voicing Morgana's thoughts exactly.

The lady nodded in agreement.

"You have a plan."

The flash of hope in Gwen's eyes felt undeserved, for Morgana had yet to make up her mind of how far she should go, how far she could go without making herself as guilty as Arthur in the process. Yet she felt herself nodding again.

And then she began to explain.


	8. Chapter 8 - A Warrior's Confidence

**The Witch's Aria**

* * *

**Chapter 8 - A Warrior's Confidence**

The large table was cluttered with maps and scraps and scrolls of parchment, demanding a prince's attention. Reports from the other patrolling troops were to be acknowledged, new orders to be sent to the outer guards watching Camelot's borders to the neighbouring kingdoms, decisions to be made.

Kingly duties. Crown Prince's duties. Important duties.

Yet Arthur couldn't find the energy within him to shuffle through them now. The neat, precise handwriting of Sir Leon's report blurred in and out of focus as Arthur rubbed his temples. He realized he had read the last sentence three times now without grasping its content. Frustrated he tossed the parchment back into the mess in front of him and palmed his hand over his face.

He was just tired, he told himself. Tired from a day of riding, from striking uneventfulness. Tired from being his father's errand boy, always ready at his disposal, being sent back and forth like a well trained dog. He only needed some rest, that was all. A good hot bath. He needed...

"Merlin!"

To pour his bath, Arthur thought. He needed him to pour his bath. Certainly not for the chatter. A chatter he hadn't heard for one whole long day. It had been a bliss, he told himself.

His mind responded with showing him Merlin's face. Merlin, giving him his "Are you sure you are in your right mind?"-look: tilted head, raised eyebrows, half a smile and poorly hidden amusement in his open eyes.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur grumbled.

"Didn't say anything, sire," a response came from the door. The prince whirled around, startled, a hand rushing towards his hip where the already shed sword belt would have been. Merlin stood in the threshold, looking at him just like his stupid brain had painted him seconds earlier, carrying his food.

"Merlin!" he reprimanded yelling, "will you _ever_ learn how to knock?"

"Aren't you in a bright mood today, sire," his servant went on, as usual ignoring his prince's orders for silence or his question.

Arthur held back an exasperated sigh and waved carelessly towards his table. "Put it down there somewhere and leave me," he heard himself saying, as he turned to look out the window. This is what he wanted, he told himself. A moment of solitude, of silence, of rest.

For a moment nothing was to be heard but papers rustling, as Merlin tried to unearth a spot on the table big enough to safely eat dinner without staining everything. He should burn those stupid things in the fireplace, _good riddance_.

"You're sure you don't want a bath?" Merlin asked after everything was set. "I mean, I am not complaining if you didn't. Your bath tub needs an awful lot of those buckets to be filled so..."

Arthur could practically see him lean over the table slightly, head tipped questioningly, eyes searching for any sign of admittance that the order Merlin had given himself was truly the order Arthur wished to give.

"That will be all, Merlin," he said without looking, his voice colder than he meant it to be.

"I'll go and fetch your laundry then, sire," Merlin said, an unnecessary announcement, Arthur thought. And he didn't have to sound so sad. Was he disappointed?

Arthur quickly turned, only to see the door already closing behind the slender figure of his manservant.

The savoury aroma of roasted sausages slowly filled the room, reminding him he hadn't eaten anything but dried rations the whole day. Hungrily he dug in, gulped down the hefty portion Merlin had brought him, not leaving behind a single strand of leek when he was finished. He didn't feel any better. His belly hurt, his sweat-soaked tunic started to itch and his head felt even more drowsy than before. There was just no way he could concentrate on the paperwork right now.

_Damn it, Merlin, I need that bath_, he thought. What had gotten into him to decline?

As it was getting darker, he searched for flint and steel to light some more candles. It should have been Merlin to do that. The sky from outside his window had changed to a dark blue hue, already close to black, and still Merlin hadn't returned. Surely it wasn't the laundry that was keeping him. Not even Merlin could take so long for a task so little.

"Merlin!" he called. Sometimes that helped. Sometimes he would only be standing idly in some hallway, chatting away with a peasant, flirting light-heartedly with _a girl_. Arthur growled subconsciously at that thought.

"MERLIN!"

Still no sounds of steps to be heard.

Merlin really wasn't something he would call pretty, not even for a boy, with his jug ears, broad mouth and his … delicate... eyelashes... STOP IT! But Arthur could see how his open smile and honest charm could smitten a girl.

"_That is the way it should be!"_ a nasty voice reminded him rather unhelpful.

"MEEEERRRRRLIN!" he yelled, drowning the voice in his anger.

Timid steps neared and his door was gently nudged open. The raven haired boy slowly pushed into view, gulping heavily.

"Where the hell have you been?" the prince demanded, refusing to be calmed by the boy's pitiful appearance.

Avoiding his stares, Merlin proceeded into the room to pick up the empty plate. "I am sorry, sire," he said, "I was being delayed."

"Yes, I can see that," Arthur barked, "And forgot the laundry too, then?"

"The... laundry?" Merlin echoed, looking at his conspicuously laundry-devoid hands in foolish confusion.

"Yes MERlin, those things _normal_ people keep in their wardrobes and that you choose to store on the floor instead. Or not at all, apparently."

Merlin blushed and he finally looked up at Arthur. "The floor? No, sire, certainly not..."

"Don't think I didn't notice, MERlin." Arthur felt himself ease up somewhat. Merlin's presence, as irritating as it was, tended to have that effect. "What delayed you anyway?" he asked, without really wanting to know. Or maybe he did.

"The Lady Morgana."

Why did Merlin's voice tremble ever so slightly as he said it? Why did his voice pitch down so curiously, a hint of raw emotion on the hold? It was pure instinct that alerted Arthur. A sudden calm settled in his body, the calm he always felt ahead of a battle. His fatigue was gone, allowing him to perceive the situation in all detail. The way Merlin nervously wrought his hands. His pale face. His haunted eyes. His rapid breathing.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Merlin never reacted that way when he yelled at him. He was supposed to speak up, push back, defy. Not to look scared like a girl's puppy.

Morgana.

Arthur closed his eyes for a deep breath. Calling on his profound, innate assertiveness he brushed away the fear that threatened to take hold on him. He closed the gap between him and his servant with few, measured strides, dominantly invading on the other man's personal space. Merlin did not budge. Only his shoulders tensed up at feeling his master so close.

"Merlin, look at me," the prince ordered.

Merlin's eyes met his in a long, telling gaze. Every word that could not be spoken aloud lay in that gaze. Every touch that was forbidden. Every consoling hug Arthur didn't allow himself to give.

Slowly Merlin's tension passed. Arthur could feel it within his own body without even touching Merlin, just by standing mere inches away, mingling their breaths.

"Tell me what happened," he demanded, his stern voice not allowing any lies or excuses.

Merlin straightened up at that voice. Borrowing the warrior's confidence, he could answer without so much of a tremble.

"Morgana questioned me about you. About the way I serve you. I think she suspects me."

Arthur frowned. That didn't sound good. "Suspects you of what exactly?"

"I don't know. She – she wanted to know why it takes me so long to go through my daily duties. Longer than any other servant."

Arthur nodded in approval. That feeling was mutual.

"She wanted to know if you hurt me."

The prince couldn't help but smirk darkly. Of course she would.

"Arthur, there is more to it. She seemed to be sweet and concerned, but there were times when…" Merlin gulped visibly, his adam's apple popping up and down from behind his red neckerchief, "When she looked at me as if she would have me executed. As if she hated me."

_Jealousy is such an unattractive trait in a woman._

Where did that thought come from?

Arthur shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. Morgana can't even watch some _sorcerer's_ execution, let alone someone she knows and cares about."

Merlin flinched at the mentioning of sorcerers. He really was a frightened girl sometimes. "But does she? Does she care about me? If she knew the truth, would she still?" he insisted bravely.

_Jealousy._

Arthur was very sure, any kind feelings Morgana had towards Merlin would die if she really knew. But there was no way she could, was there?

"And what truth would that be?" he asked and he closed his heart to the cruelty he had to deploy. "You are just my manservant and you serve as I command. _Whatever... _I command. What is there to hate?"

"You don't … really … mean that, Arthur."

"Yes MERlin, that is _exactly _what I mean!"

Merlin winced for a split second and Arthur only then realized he had his hand raised towards his frightened face. Whether to strike him or to stroke him he was not entirely sure. Instead he went for a raised finger, emphasizing his next words. "And you better remember that!"

Now there were undoubtedly tears welling up in Merlin's eyes, although he did his best to fight them down. Merlin was no good liar, but Arthur just could not stand seeing him like this. He knew he would probably regret this later but he had to do it anyway.

Gently he took Merlin's chin within two fingers and smiled sadly. Merlin's long eyelashes danced around his pooling tears.

"Or at least, that is what we will have to make Morgana believe."

Merlins eyelids fluttered rapidly, relief radiating through his body like a heatwave until he understood what Arthur was saying.

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me, Merlin."

Arthur savoured the taste of this name on his lips, tried to preserve the sensation that came with, the warm comfort it never failed to send to his groin. Perhaps he said this perfect name too often? Perhaps that was how Morgana got suspicious?

"There will be no more playing for a while. No more _hurting_. No more... anything. Not until Morgana is soothed back into minding her pretty dresses and latest hairstyle with greater dedication than she is us. Do you understand?"

"Arthur, please. This was my fault. It must have. I should have done my chores quicker. I will, I promise, I can. I will be as quick as any and then I can be here again, be yours again, and Morgana will never know. Arthur... I promise!"

The pleading urgency in Merlin's voice pierced tiny holes in Arthur's resolve, but he had to remain firm, for both of them. Stroking the sharp edge of his lover's chin tenderly, the prince answered, "This is an order, Merlin. No more. She Must Not Know."

Merlin closed his eyes in defeat. And miraculously, inexplicably, Merlin obeyed. In this instance Arthur wished he hadn't.


	9. Chapter 9 - Once and Future

**The Witch's Aria**

* * *

**Chapter 9 - Once and Future**

The gentle caress of his prince's thumb left a searing trail alongside Merlin's jaw. Everything else ceased to be of importance, Lady Morgana's assault, the prince's anguishing words, the laws of men. It was not his own two legs anymore, that kept him standing, but the two coarse fingers placed beneath his chin.

_She Must Not Know._

If Arthur needed him strong, needed him independent, then that was what he would have to be. There was just nothing Merlin wouldn't do, when the prince donned his regal voice. When the adolescent features of a spoiled prat transformed into the glorious promise of the Once and Future King, the greatest ruler that would ever be, there was no way for Merlin to refuse him.

It must have been for ages they stood like this – or had it been seconds – until hurried footsteps were heard from outside. Merlin's highly sharpened ears could distinguish the faint rustling of silk accompanying them and Merlin knew who neared. Obediently he stepped back from his prince, breaking the precious connection they shared.

The faintest glint of betrayal invaded Arthur's stormy blue eyes before he lowered his head, shaking it in denial, defeated, prat once more. He really had a way of making things difficult for Merlin, never thinking things through before acting upon them.

"I'll leave you to it then, sire," Merlin said formally, all too aware of the vigorous knocking on the prince's doors.

"No you won't. Enter!" Arthur the prat answered, turning his back to Merlin to face whoever was coming in. The door barely opened and a magnificent looking Morgana slipped through the crack, looking concerned but determined. Her observing eyes quickly scanned the room, resting on him and Merlin was fully aware that he was gaping.

Her stern warrioress face softened to grace him with an almost encouraging smile. Quickly he averted his gaze until she shifted her attention to Arthur.

The prince bent over the table once more, pretending to be highly occupied with the paperwork it was littered with, heavily bracing his arms on the sturdy wood. "Morgana!" he greeted wryly, "What brings me the honour of your visit at this hour?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Arthur, it is hardly a courtesy call," Morgana replied sweetly, her lips smiling but her eyes were not.

"Never believed that for a second."

The way Morgana pried at Arthur made Merlin feel uneasy. She was like a lioness stalking her prey as she approached them. There was something about her that he hadn't noticed before. Something dark, something powerful. His magic gathered at his fingertips in response and he had to fight it down. Not here, not in front of Arthur. He was not ready to know.

"I don't intend to recall _old times_," she began, with a mocking note in her voice so faint Merlin could not be sure if he was just imagining it, "But I believe someone here has forgotten a promise."

Arthur stiffened. Merlin could feel it, every muscle in the prince tensed at these words. Morgana's smile transformed into ice. It was as watching only half a conversation and Merlin was at loss. He felt utterly out of place, just a mouse within range of a war of dragons. Slowly he backed down, hoping he would escape the room before the standoff ended.

"Merlin," he was held back and he only knew it was Arthur who spoke because there was no other man here. The voice however belonged to a complete stranger, cold, clenched, constrained. "I want my bath prepared at next bell. Make sure of it."

Seriously? Now he was coming up with a bath? Had he any idea how long it would take to draw all the water from the well in the pitch black yard, heating it up in the already vacated kitchen and carrying it all the way up here? Sometimes Merlin was sure Arthur must at least suspect him of having magic, because orders like this were simply ludicrous.

"NOW, Merlin! A prince has more important things to do than to wait for a useless idiot of a servant!"

It was because of Morgana, Merlin told himself, it was the charade they had to play, just another mask they had to wear. His cruel, harsh words should not hurt so much, but they did. He wanted to fight back, speak up, tell him he was being a dollop-head, and a royal ass, and even a clot-pole, if that would change anything. Show him that no man should be so put upon.

But he could not. Arthur had made a decision. For them both. And so Merlin took a small bow and left, the catlike gaze of Morgana locking onto him until he had finally made it past her to the door. If she had hissed and clung a clawed hand in his arm at that moment, he wouldn't even have been surprised.

_I do not trust you,_ he thought fervently, _no matter what you say. So stay away from Arthur!_

But there was nothing he could do. Arthur had ordered him to play nice, and that was what he would have to do. For now.

On his way down to the yard he tried not to think about what was going on behind the closed doors of the royal chambers. Arthur would be alright, right? Morgana would not actually dare do anything to him here, and she would not have any reason to. It was not like Arthur had chained her to dungeon walls recently or anything like that. A forgotten promise? What would he have promised her?

_"She will make a fine queen one day",_ a cheerful, proud Gwen had said of her lady, the day he first saw Morgana. And he had believed her then. But Arthur surely didn't love her. There was no way they actually were- engaged or something? He would know about that, wouldn't he?

_You are just my manservant._

He gritted his teeth and a sudden, possessive sensation shook his body. Arthur was his! No one was allowed to claim him but he! He would not allow this! Arthur must not think for a second... oh.

_She Must Not Know._

The betrayal hit Merlin like a slap in the face. How could he dare! How...

A torch sprung to life next to him, flaring angrily and he bit his lip until he tasted blood. His magic coated him like a golden sheath, raw and powerful, rushing to his protection from a threat he was not allowed to eradicate._ Calm down, Merlin!,_ he implored to his inner self, _calm down or the whole castle will know within minutes. You won't change anything if you lose your head now._ Like, literally.

Gasping for fresh air he chose the nearest way out of the confining stone walls. Stepping outside on the royal balcony overlooking the castle yard, he sucked in deep breaths, as if he had been on the brink of drowning. Fast moving clouds were gathering above him, mirroring his inner turmoil. The hot sultriness of the last few days promised to be dispelled by relieving, renewing rain soon. Quickly the sky turned to black, wiping out moon and stars alike.

_Blå chriën, barån fweala,_

_Blå chriën, lah eizå gram,_

He didn't know why he still hummed this, except for that it always helped to calm him down. It was hypnotizing, soothing, carrying a strange fascination. It were words of the old religion, powerful words, meaningful words. _Lovely night_ indeed. _Soft and dark_. He could feel the sorrow behind these words, the hurt, the grief. But when he let this melody sink into his being, he also felt so very alive. One with the world, in a way he only ever did when he delved into his magic sight. When he lived by the old religion. When he prayed the old prayers, the wordless prayers, the forbidden prayers of passion and devotion and carnal desires.

The winds inside the yard were picking up. Harsh gusts carried distant grumblings and a scent of warm rain tingled Merlin's senses, prickling on his skin. There was might in the air, the raw forces of the Ancients assembling, indifferent to the petty quarrels of men below.

_The lovely night that ends_

_A long and hard, weary day_

_So rest..._

He would not have lovely nights for a long time now, would he? Morgana's fault. Arthur's fault. His fault. He should have been more careful. He should have told her what she wanted to hear in that little room in the servant's section. Why did he not know what that was? It had not been enough. And now he had to be strong. Be cheerful. Be Merlin, the foolish servant.

"Quite gloomy outside now, isn't it?" a feminine voice said and he hastily wiped a secret tear away.

"Gwen!" he beamed at her, donning his fools mask like a well worn cape. He was getting far too good at this. "What are you still doing at the castle? There is quite some weather coming for us."

"I wanted to ask the same of you," the young handmaiden standing at the doors replied, folding her hands in front of her body in an oddly ladylike manner. Her curly hair was illuminated from indoors, giving her a queenly halo, despite the simple dress she was wearing. "Shouldn't you be back home, too, annoying Gaius or something?"

Merlin smiled at her and this time he was meaning it. He was proud to call her friend. "Ah, you know Arthur," he japed. "Demanding as ever. There sometimes is no pleasing him, you know."

Despite the dim light he could see her blushing deeply, a coy girl now in place of a lady.

Merlin laughed goofily, catching her unsteady gaze in an apologizing smile. "I am sorry, Gwen, I know you suffered as I did when Arthur was your guest during last week's tournament," he teased, fully aware of the clumsy flirting attempts his prince had made towards the girl. His struggle to make an impression on a servant. He could be so blind sometimes, his prince.

If possible, the maiden only blushed deeper, unable to look him in the eyes. "I suffered nothing like you," she whispered.

"True," he agreed, lowering his head towards her as if to share a secret. "He even made dinner for you."

An involuntary laugh escaped her mouth, that sounded peculiarly like a sob. "No, he didn't. You did."

Merlin busied the most innocent face he could muster. "I didn't. I swear. It was all Arthur's dinner."

"Alright then, you didn't. But you _did_ fetch it from the castle's kitchen." Her eyes now pierced him as if to say, "And don't you dare deny it."

"Yeah, alright, I did," he surrendered benignly. "BUT you can't say you didn't like it, being served like a queen."

"I am nothing like a queen and never want to be," she objected quietly. Her shoulders tensed as a cold breeze made her shiver.

"Oh come on, now, Gwen. You wouldn't say no if he asked you, we both know that." Merlin could not blame her for that. No one could withstand Arthur, if he really wanted something.

"How can... how can you joke about these things," Gwen breathed anxiously and Merlin felt guilty. He didn't want to hurt his friend, sweet innocent Gwen with her chaste, kind heart. Gently he bent his knees to look up to her, placing a hand on her cheek in a loving, brotherly gesture.

"Gwen, sweet Gwen," he soothed, "It's alright. I will never tell anyone. I promise."

She melted into his hand and he tucked her in, holding her, caressing her back, making amends for his teasing words. Her head slumped down to rest on his shoulder.

A lightning flash bright as the sun tore through the sky, accompanied by roaring thunder like the angry cry of an ancient god.

"C'mon, Gwen, we need to get inside," Merlin said quietly, not wanting to upset her again.

"Don't leave me, Merlin," Gwen mumbled, her voice muffled by his jacket, vibrating at his neck. He frowned, mildly surprised. "Gwen, we BOTH need to get inside. C'mon."

"Don't you ever dare to leave me!" she repeated, fervour in her voice, immediately followed by the more timid, somewhat embarrassed words: "Us! I mean, not me personally, obviously, but us, in general. The … Camelot – us."

He clasped her by the shoulders, holding her at arm's length and examined her closely, trying to make any sense of this. "Is this about something Morgana said to you?" he asked, searching for a pattern.

Her breathing got caught in her lungs for a second. That was a yes, then. The dream. "What did she tell you? Has she had another nightmare?"

"A nightmare," she repeated, but refused to tell him more.

He wouldn't force her. There would be other ways to find out. "Don't you worry, Gwen. You'll be safe. I'll make sure of that," he promised, "and right now-" Another lightning strike fell, this time so close the thunder followed within a split second. "I need to get you inside before-" The rain began pouring down, not starting gently with the occasional drop but launched down violently onto them as if someone up there had opened every gate of the watery worlds above. Both peasants were drenched within seconds.

"C'mon, now, Gwen," Merlin laughed, not at all sorry for the cool refresher and he dragged her resolutely inside, sheltering her barely with his jacket on the way in. Safe from the falling torrents outside they caught their breaths, leaving little puddles of water on the bare stone floor. Rain dripped down Gwen's face and he wiped it away. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, tilting his head towards the balcony doors. "Now you gonna be soaked like a fish by the time you reach your home."

"At least we are done for the day, aren't we, Merlin?"

He squinted in a fake painful face. "Nah, not me. Arthur expects me in his chambers soon," he moaned, mimicking a fretful child. "Can you believe it? He sure enjoys his late bathing sessions."

"I don't think you should be doing that," she said with sudden iron in her voice. "You are his servant, not his slave! You don't have to do everything he says!"

"And what gave you that idea?" he smirked, "You know I never do as I'm told. It's just..."

"Yes?" She leaned in when he quickly glanced left and right as if to make sure they couldn't be overheard.

"If he doesn't get that bath now, within a day Arthur would reek like rotten troll and what would that say for me? A servant has his pride too, you know?"

She gulped heavily. Probably imagining her prince charming as a troll and trying not to break out in disrespectful laughter. "Things will change," she said when she found her voice again, "Things will get better soon. Sometimes… sometimes you just have to do what is right and d-damn the consequences."

"That doesn't sound a lot like you?"

"No. Lady Morgana used to say this. She... she is a fine lady. A pure person – not saying you aren't, obviously. Just saying she is stronger than you... than you think. She can change things for the better. I know she can."

"Do you really believe that?" Merlin was stunned by the certainty in her voice, this display of deepest trust in her mistress and friend. Did she know something he didn't?

"Merlin, don't you want to be free? To be respected for what you are, to be treated as equal no matter whose parents you are born to, what your living is? Don't you think we should be free to decide who we serve, who we love, how we love?"

Riding next to Arthur as equal. As an advisor. As a friend. As a lover. Riding next to an Arthur who knew all his secrets and embraced them, seeing them as what they were. A force for good, a force to mend the world, to restore the balance and to bring peace and happiness to the people of all Albion.

They would be a force unseen before or after ever again. Unstoppable, unbreakable, irresistible. When the Once and Future King was strong enough to understand Merlin's powers, he would be Merlin's saviour from corruption, harnessing the warlock's power, that was at his disposal, for good. Merlin's magic would be allowed to roam free, fulfilling his king's commands, fulfilling his destiny, fulfilling the Greater Cause as it had to be.

A deep peace settled inside Merlin, and a wide, dreamy smile graced his features. "It will be, Gwen. One time," he said.

"But someone will have to make that happen," she said, "We have to fight for what we want, because no one is going to just give it to us. We will make things right. Because someone needs to give Camelot the ruler it deserves."

Merlin looked at her, drenched in water, eyes as tired as his own, and yet there was so much wisdom in them that he had to hold his breath. She was right. Of course she was right. She always was. She was his reason, his conscience, his light in the darkness.

Suddenly it could not go fast enough. "You are a genius, Gwen!" He placed an elated kiss on her forehead and whirled her around. "Have I ever told you that?"

"Uhm..."

"I really need to go now! Thanks! Night, Gwen!" He left her standing where she was, racing towards the yard and releasing his magic, calling for all the waters he would be needing for tonight. He was on a mission now.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Re: to the anonymous guest who was worried about Merlin being ooc: **

**Does this set things right again or do you still think Merlin to weak and shush? If so, could you tell me, where you think he is, or if he is weak throughout all the chapters? Sometimes people may seem weak in POV-Chapters that are not their own. I try to give each chapter's POV a unique voice, and all descriptions, adjectives and whatnots are to be interpreted as seen through the POV's perception filter (=e.g. how would Arthur see and describe Merlin?), so they may seem off to what the episodes show us. They should not be too off, though, so please say if they are and why.**

**Either way, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I apologize for the length, but I found, the next few chapters were impossible to shorten, so the next few will be even longer. As they have a bit more action it would be unfair to cut them to pieces.**

**I hope to see you in the next one, and if you liked or disliked this chapter, a comment is always appreciated ;)**

**Missing Tales**


	10. Chapter 10 - Womanly Wiles

**The Witch's Aria**

* * *

**Chapter 10 - Womanly Wiles**

When the door closed behind Merlin, Arthur could breathe again. The freezing fear that had touched his heart changed to a numbing alertness. Merlin only was his servant, and yet he had become so much more.

There were just things he should never know, no one ever should, but least of all Merlin.

"You are as charming as ever, my lord," Morgana said. Her voice was sweet, but he felt the hidden thorns in her words. It was correct of her to call him by his title, since she was in considerably lower standing than him, but she rarely ever did. Not even when she was upset with him. In fact, she hadn't called him that for a very long time.

"I don't need to be charming to my servants," he said, hoping against reason she would not hear the lie. Once he might have meant what he had said. Back in the times when he had seen the servants as property, as obedient toys for him to play with. That had changed.

"_Merlin has changed that_," his mind clarified annoyingly. Rubbish.

With a voice as cold and unemotional as he could muster, he added, "And I certainly won't give anyone a pass on being lazy or insolent, especially not my manservant."

"His name is Merlin, and I am sure he does everything in his power to please you, Arthur." Her voice carried tiny needles of ice, biting into his skin and making his body hair bristle.

He refused to look up to her. He was not ready to look at her accusing, all-seeing eyes. Instead he picked up a random parchment again, pretending to be deeply preoccupied with Sir Leon's report, but all his mind could do was to provide him with yet another image of a very annoyed Merlin.

"_Oh, that's rich. Everything to please, _**my ass**!" _Mind Merlin scoffed, "I really don't know why I should blow up your ego even bigger than it already is. Go fetch yourself a real bootlicker for that, cabbage head." _Infuriating as always, that Merlin, even in his head. Arthur shut him out with gritted teeth.

"What do you want, Morgana? As you can see, I am very busy right now."

"Would you mind if I helped you with it." Her friendly offer was somehow marred by the sarcastic smile he heard sitting on her lips. "I've always been better with these things than you."

The fact that she was right didn't make him feel any better. Why on earth had father made her attend his regal lessons as well? She really had been a pest and little know-it-all, easily picking up on every letter he so struggled with. Girls shouldn't be bothered with these things. Reading, calculating, history, nobility, the art of speech and the four kinds of power men hold. Why should she know about them? It's not that it would be of any worth for her later.

Morgana was now up close, standing right in front of him, the messy table in between being his last barricade. He could smell her flowery perfume teasing his nose, as she reached out to snatch the paper from out his hand. She turned it around.

"When you are pretending to read, you should at least not hold it upside down."

Returning the paper to his hand, her fingers touched his and he pulled back as if he had been burned. The scroll fell down the table, slipped at the edge and rolled off beneath their feet.

Her lips tightened up as her slender fingers clenched to a fist. "I really thought you had changed. I really thought you were a better man than Uther is."

"I remember." And Arthur did.

* * *

_She had said it once before to him, the day he had released her from the cell his father had thrown her in, for one of her graver disobediences. She had looked beautiful that morning. Weak, sleep-deprived, kneeling submissively in her chains, waiting for him to do whatever he had planned for her. Because he was a prince and she was just a woman, a lady one time, but still only a ward, dependent on his father's mercy, on his mercy._

_He had come to release her, but he had taken his time. He could have done anything that day, with the protection of Uther's benevolence gone, and they both had known it._

_But he hadn't._

_Instead he had called for his guards to remove the chains. Let her go, give her the king's forgiveness, spiced with a warning. "I gave him my word that you have learned your lesson. Tread carefully now," he had said._

_That was when she had said those words. She had meant them then. She hadn't known they were a lie. His lie. He was no better man than his father. Like father like son. There never was another way._

* * *

"You must be very proud of yourself, Arthur Pendragon," Morgana taunted, "Acting like a big man because you have a manservant to toy with, acting like a king because you have a crown to boast with."

"Careful now, Morgana," he growled darkly, his temper on a dangerous turning point, "I may be only crowned prince yet, but I still can have you restrained like my father did, when you are disrespecting the crown."

"You might as well try. That won't make my words any less true! Tell me, Arthur, how many innocent lives have you destroyed already? How much more blood do you want to spill?"

"STOP IT!"

Burning with fury Arthur heaved over the massive wooden table and slammed it to the ground in an ear-shattering cacophony. The lit candelabras atop went down with it, clashing and clanging, spattering their surroundings with hot wax until the flames extinguished. All the papers scattered onto the floor, some being scorched by the candles' flames, some sullied by the ink that spilled out of a broken inkpot, others rolled into hiding behind drapes and tables and chests. The smell of singed paper and cooling wax filled the air.

Arthur could not care less. Morgana had barely managed to jump back to prevent her feet from being crushed and he registered the fear in her face with dark satisfaction. The looming thunderstorm outside chose this moment to break loose, the first flash of lighting and the first roar of thunder underlining his rampage.

"You have no right, whatsoever, to judge me for what I did, Morgana! I obey my father's, my _KING's_ commands as every son and every subject must do. My allegiance is to him and if he deems it necessary to punish those who break the law, it is not in my place to question it! Innocents, you say! The whole lot of them either planned to kill or destroy Camelot, or worse have practised sorcery. Because of scum like THEM I have lost my mother! They are NOT innocent!"

Morgana's eyes met his with equal fire, not shrinking back an inch, instead climbing over the overturned table, wading through the mess until she stood up to nose to him. "Is that what you tell yourself when you try to sleep at night? Remote druid camps, peaceful people, with women and children in there, too young to even have been born during The Purge, being the culprit of all evil that befalls Camelot? Do you really believe that or is it another story you tell yourself to forget that your hands are soaked in innocents' blood?"

Arthur blinked. His mind went blank. "How do you know about the druid camps?"

_She shouldn't have known. She couldn't. She mustn't. People in their sleep. People in their beds. Women weeping, children crying. His doing. His alone. Father was to be proud of him, Arthur, his son, his sword, his vengeance. But, men, weaponless. Women, helpless. Children, clueless. They had been no danger, but Father had said they were and who was he to question him. He was a good son, a worthy king one day._

_Slaying innocents._

With a chiding look towards him, Morgana inspected a new wax stain on her pretty dress. "I know more about you than you would ever imagine, my prince."

He believed her without the slightest doubt. He had always believed that. Ever since she had arrived in Camelot, proud, wild, and ten years old, challenging his eight-year-old self on every opportunity, breaking his comfortable cocoon of being an only child, the pampered one, the one the world of Camelot Castle rotated around with no questions asked. Her green, almond-shaped eyes had always seen right through to the prince's soul, revealing every petty little secret he had tried to hide.

That he had cried for his dead mother in his dreams. That he had wept for the first dog he had lost, shot by a stray arrow during a hunt. His arrow, because he could not have been bothered to be patient, to listen to his mentor's instructions.

Princes did not weep, that was what father had taught him that day. He could still feel the king's hand on his cheek, the sigil ring bruising his skin, the blood dripping from his nose. Uther had not punished him for slaying his dog. He had punished him for feeling remorse. And Arthur had never wept again. Not in front of his father. Not then.

But Morgana had known. Morgana had taught him there was more to fear than the brute force of the king. And he had feared her. He had feared every word she readied on her seductive lips. Feared her sweet voice when she unveiled his true self to the least person he wanted it to know. Himself.

But that had changed. He had changed. He was stronger now, better. Those things lay in the past. They had grown older. Both of them. Grown closer.

He forced himself to breathe. To soften his voice. _This was not about jealousy, so relax. _"I am not proud of what I did back then. But those days are past. I am not that man any more."

"Aren't you? Tell me, Arthur, because I am not sure, tell me you would refuse your king if he made you repeat that atrocity on another druids' camp! Tell me, you wouldn't vent your anger and sick desires on those who can't refuse you! Tell me, you wouldn't ruin another boy's life without a moment's thought, ever again! Look at me and tell me that!"

He narrowed his eyes, seizing her, this fierce lioness in front of him, baring her teeth, clawing vicious words at him. And suddenly he understood, it had nothing to do with him or Merlin, nor the druids or the king. She fought like she had always done, to veil another pain, a pain that affected herself more than it did him. Gently, he reached for her clenched fists, holding them, stroking the whitened knuckles.

"You know the answer already, Morgana. I did save Mordred, remember. I brought him back to his people."

She blinked in confusion, her stance faltering. "Mordred?"

"The young druid boy you hid behind your curtains? Father wanted me to execute him, but instead I saved him. We saved him."

"Mordred," Morgana repeated, tasting the sound of that name on her tongue, "So that was his name."

"I thought you knew."

"He never spoke a word to me."

Her eyes didn't see him any more. They looked at him and looked through him and into the past behind him. Her fury was spent and a deep sadness appeared. Her hands submitted to his caresses.

They went silent for a while, only holding each other's hands. The ongoing storm outside, whining and whistling, was unnaturally loud in the silence of the room. The lightning was holding back at the moment, but the heavens still wept the rainy tears the two of them had never been allowed to shed.

Arthur had to know. He had her to voice it. "That druid boy," he said, soft now, tenderly, "you have shown great affection to that stranger's child. Why did you help him?"

"Why did you help him?"

"Because I wanted to see you smile again." He showed her what he meant, but she didn't smile back.

"I felt, there was a bond between us," she said instead, "I can't explain it. But it was there. He..."

"... is not yours." Arthur drew her closer, forcing her to look at him. "Do you hear me? He is not yours."

"But he could have been."

"Morgana, we have been over this. Stop seeing your child in every stray puppy you encounter. It was a mistake, a sin, and Gaius helped us to get rid of it before it could think. Before it could breathe. Before it had a name. There was no other choice to protect you from the king."

Within a blink of a moment the lioness was back, freeing her hands from his with a violent jerk. "Don't you DARE speak of our child in that way, Arthur Pendragon! Not ever!"

"It was hardly a child, Morgana, it..."

Her deadly glare made him swallow the rest of his response.

"I am sorry. I had no idea it was still affecting you in that intensity. It's been so long now."

"There is little you do know," she answered, but even Morgana could rage for only so long. Now she just looked exhausted, spent, and old habits kicked in. Always, after they had played, after he had broken her fierce resistance, had claimed victory over her, he had held her, soothed her, saved her from falling too deep.

This was the same, always the same. When she laid in his arms, defeated, vulnerable and open like she was with no one else, trusting him to mend her, to make her whole again, those were the times when he had loved her the most.

And now all he could do was to take her into his arms again, comforting, healing, lending her his strength once more. "Hush, Morgana. There will be others, I promise you that. You will have children, legitimate children, rightful children. I'll make sure of that. I promised, remember?"

She almost but sobbed in his arms. "You did. But you forgot."

"I would never." And he hadn't. As of yet there just had not been anyone who deserved Morgana. Certainly not one of the knights. They were honourable men, his knights, he had made sure of that. But they were soldiers. Loyal to their graves. And that was the problem. Morgana deserved a husband who lived, not one who had handed his life to the king. Like her father had.

She was worthy of a prince, a king, but honourable princes outside Camelot were scarce. With all certainty not Cenred, the coward king of Essetir. It was one of the rare occasions he had opposed his father and won, even if that had threatened their long fought peace negotiations. Cenred was no good man and he would not bring home the jewel of Camelot as a trophy of an uncertain peace.

But Arthur would find someone. Someone kind and gentle like she was. Who would revere her like she deserved to be revered.

"Come now, Morgana." He rocked her like a child. "You are tired. Let me guide you back to your chambers. Get some rest. Sleep. It is late."

She didn't object, just tucked herself deeper into his embrace and he gently led her out of his room. Merlin would soon be back, with freshly heated water, with a hope in his eyes that Morgana was not to see.

Slowly they made their way through the silent corridors. If the guards they passed found anything strange in that behaviour, their prince and their lady in a close embrace, they didn't show a hint of it, silently holding their place in solemn watch.

The storm still battered against the windows when they reached her chambers. Her bedroom faced the weather side of the castle, so the rain drummed fiercely against the coloured glass panels. The winds howled like thousand ghosts as they passed the edges, roofs and cornices of Camelot. It was cold in her chambers, the humid heat of the day a mere memory now.

Gwen was nowhere to be seen, so Arthur helped Morgana to undress, helped her in her nightgowns like he had so many years ago. When she loosened her black hair and rested her noble head on the silken white pillow, he felt the sudden urge to kiss her goodnight. But it felt inappropriate now. They were no children any more. Instead he covered her up to her chin with the fluffy blanket. He sat down on the mattress next to her, feeling her delicate body being pulled towards him by the bending underground.

"I will take care of you, I promise," he said.

"Thank you." Her gaze rested upon him, loving, caring. "But, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"About Merlin..."

He felt his body tense up again. "Yes...?"

"He doesn't deserve what you put him through. He is a good boy."

"What I put him...?"

"Look, Arthur, I know you have desires. And I know that I won't, and you can't allow yourself to live them out with me after..." she stopped dead, "after this all. But Merlin does not understand that. He is not strong enough for that. He would never tell you, but it breaks him apart."

"I have no idea what you are-"

"Don't insult us in that way, Arthur. I know what you do to him. What you force him to do for you. Do you really believe he enjoys this... treatment?"

"I..." Arthur felt himself adrift. What was Morgana implying? Of course Merlin enjoyed. They never actually spoke of those matters, but it was obvious in every look Merlin gave him. Merlin loved him, the same way he loved Merlin. Or didn't he? But how would Morgana know?

"I had – someone – to spy on you. I am sorry, Arthur, I was being stupid, I shouldn't have. But I had to know. And what I heard..."

Someone had seen him and Merlin? When? What did he tell Morgana?

"You can't continue using him in that way. You are destroying him. He would never refuse you, never dare, but, Arthur, I spoke to him and..."

Arthur didn't want to hear. Didn't want to listen. Morgana had it all wrong. Her spy had seen it all wrong. He didn't _force_ Merlin to do anything. Not really. Merlin would tell him if he didn't want it. Right? When he had asked Merlin about Morgana, when he had asked if there was anything else Merlin wanted to tell him, Merlin would have spoken. Merlin would not voice his fears to Morgana but refuse to tell them to his prince, would he?

"Arthur, Merlin is ready to die to make it end. He is willing to accept death to escape... from that."

"Did he tell you that? With these words?" Arthur was horrified. That could not be true. Never be true. But Morgana's eyes didn't lie to him. They never did. She never shied away from a truth he needed to hear. "I didn't …. did he... did he tell you... do you think he would actually... DO it? SEEK it? MAKE it happen?" Arthur didn't care that his voice pitched with a hint of panic. That his worry over Merlin suddenly lay so bare for her to see.

What she said could not be true, could it?

She shook her head. Her pale white face, framed by black locks, shone beautiful and mystic like a fey's. "I don't know. I don't think so. Not if you don't... give him another reason to."

He pressed his lips together. How could he have been so blind! He had thought it had been loyalty, that Merlin followed him in every battle, every danger, never carrying any weapon, any protection except for this ridiculous red neckerchief. It had never once crossed his mind that it could be because Merlin wished to die.

* * *

_Their riddle of chalices, when he was to be tested by the keeper of the unicorns. One chalice with water, one with poison. Each of them was allowed to drink out of one chalice alone, but every drop had to be drunken._

"_I should be the one to drink the poison," Merlin had said, his face unflinching and ready, "You are the future king of Camelot. I am just a servant."_

_Arthur had joked about it of course. Like about every strange and stupid thing Merlin ever said. But Merlin... Merlin had meant it._

_Merlin's outbreak this morning. Or has it been last week? Had he asked for more than Merlin could give? If he thought about it, Merlin did look considerably thinner than he had when they met. His ribs had been more prominent lately, his cheekbones more angular, his eyes more tired than ever. Hollow, almost? Arthur couldn't remember. Arthur could only ever remember seeing him smile. Happy, cheerful, proud of his prince, when Arthur won every battle, defeated every challenger, helped protecting those closest to Merlin. Merlin would have told him, if he was unhappy. Arthur would have seen it._

_Or would he?_

* * *

"Merlin will have nothing to fear, Morgana," he said, and he was glad that his voice did not tremble. "I assure you, I will give him no reason for... that."

And she nodded, smiling, finally believing, finally calmed. "Thank you," she said again. "Could you... could you stay with me until I am asleep?"

Arthur blinked in surprise. She still trusted him so much. He forced a smile. "Of course." With barely shaking hands he placed a candle on the little bedside table, its tiny orange flame dancing a hypnotic dance. A little beacon of warmth, of tenderness against the unleashed forces of nature outside. It shed a warm light on her features, creating the illusion of a healthy rose tone to her skin.

Both of them had their burdens to carry, their demons to hide. She looked so fragile, with her hair spread like this, like a crown of the old religion, and yet she was so strong. He watched her pass into a restless slumber, her brows frowning and furrowing, but when he placed a gentle hand on her hot forehead, she grew calmer until she was at peace.

"Sleep well, Rose of Camelot," he whispered. Then he blew out the candle and left the room.

* * *

**Author's Notes: This will be it for me until next year. I hope all of you who celebrate christmas will have an enjoyable holiday and to everyone, all good wishes and health for the coming year. If you liked this chapter, I would appreciate a comment, if not, I would appreciate some honest words. To all silent admirers out there: thank you for readings this and enjoy! I will seeya next year in more**

**Missing Tales**


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